Proverb
by ravynechyylde
Summary: "Is that what you've been telling the merchant to get me fruit? That I'm your wife?" 3 stand-alone stories involving various kinks.
1. See No Evil

He feels as though he has been perched on the minaret for hours, scanning for targets that remain elusive. All he sees in that strange haze of the _mraa mn alnsr_ are the gray, muted figures of the citizenry dotted with the occasional red blur of a guard.

But there! A flash of blue, deeper and more vivid than any other mark Altair has ever sighted, weaves between the crowds of Jerusalem and brings with it the promise of diversion. His vision returns to normal as he climbs down from the spire to the crossbar and lets himself fall forward, hearing the cry of an eagle through the rush of air around him before he lands with a cushioned thump into a pile of hay.

He climbs out and brushes himself off, triangulating his new target's location before making for the rooftops. Normally Altair would have no problem cutting guards down where they stand, but he knows Malik disapproves of his casual flouting of the Creed, and he cannot ensure his robes will remain unsullied. So he darts from building to building, sprinting when he hears voices calling for him to stop, and hiding within one of the rooftop gardens to catch his breath.

Altair peers out from between the curtains, his gaze appearing vacant again as he scans the crowd. He smiles absently when he sees how close he is, then climbs out of the little tent and lands on the street below, ignoring the disconcerted gasps and exclamations around him. He moves like a wraith between vendors clamoring from their stalls, harried women haggling over vegetables while children swarm all around, and cocksure young men testing weapons that will surely land them in trouble.

"Camouflage yourself as you will, Master Assassin, you cannot hide from these eyes." That calm murmur reaches him over the ambient noise of the _bazaar_, and Altair can't decide whether he's pleased to be in Malik's company, or irritated that his approach was that obvious. "Why do you trouble me today?"

There was a time when he would have met such a greeting with a heated rejoinder, but he now recognizes the shade of indulgence in Malik's voice and is content.

That doesn't mean polite conversation will follow, of course.

"I can only assume you were looking for me, Dai, to relieve the monotony of your day." He falls into step beside him and lowers his voice in a conspiratorial manner. "Or, perhaps, for relief of another kind."

Malik snorts, offended by both suggestions. "Failing to miss your oafish lumbering is not the same as looking for you." He too lowers his voice now. "And I am not sure that relief is what you bring me."

"I was close enough to lighten your coin purse if I so chose before you noticed me," he retorts. Altair likes that they can have two conversations at once, relishes the danger of being overheard as well as the closeness that he refuses to examine. "And relief by way of ecstasy is still relief."

Malik looks at him, eyebrows raised. "You resisted the urge to commit petty larceny. I'm impressed." He pauses a moment before sniffing, "But your arrogance is as off-putting as ever."

"Yes, time in your company has had _some_ effect on me," Altair muses. "I suppose it was someone else I had pinned beneath me, moaning my name last evening." His cocky grin never fails to get a reaction.

Malik's stride falters a bit, and he glares at Altair. Whether he is more upset by his own shameless behavior or the lack of discretion in bringing it up is unclear. He looks forward again, remarking, "Between your maddening smirks and asinine babbling, I'm not sure which I would give up first."

"Fortunate, then, that you need not make that choice," Altair returns easily, still grinning a bit. "Your eyes must be sharp indeed to find me in the crowd so quickly," he comments, scanning the busy marketplace himself for any threats.

Malik bites his tongue on a damning confession and instead says, "I appreciate that it is my excellent vision, and not your incompetence, that allowed this meeting to take place." With a rueful shake of his head, Malik looks up and asks, "Ah, is that the stand where you purchase my figs? They are quite good, perhaps I will pick up some more."

"_No_." He is startled by the vehemence in Altair's voice, and he finds his arm in the tight grip of three strong fingers. "We cannot go to that stand." Before Malik can ask what unspeakable act Altair has committed, he is steered away decisively.

"What was that about?" Malik queries as they walk towards the bureau.

"Eh…" Altair ducks his head in a rare show of embarrassment. "That vendor… may believe I am married."

"First: what has that to do with me? Second: why would he think that?"

"Well…" That hesitation would be charming if Malik did not know it heralded something unpleasant. "I mentioned that I was shopping for someone else. And before I knew it, I found myself admitting to a wife who… has a fondness for figs."

Malik is silent for a moment; Altair winces. "Is _that _what you've been telling the merchant to get me fruit? That I'm your _wife_?"

"No, I've been telling the merchant how much my wife loves figs, and he gives me a small discount." Altair smiles wryly. "It's the look of longing on my face, I'm sure."

"Ass."

"You get the best selection from the cart, I save some money, and everyone's masculinity is preserved. Just as Allah wills it. I do not see the problem."

"No," Malik drawls, "you never see the problem, do you?" He sighs, covering his pained expression with his hand as the bureau comes into view. "Well," he says testily, "this is only further proof that I cannot take my eyes off of you." The two enter the backroom that serves as Malik's sleeping quarters, and the _dai_ begins unpacking his satchel, trying to ignore the sound of clothes being shucked off from the other side of the room.

"So then I was right, hmm?" comes the unrepentant question as a pair of hands reach from behind him, setting his purchases aside in order to peel off his scholar's robe. "You _are_ always looking for me."

Malik stiffens as those deft hands undo the ties on his assassin's robes and cowl, pulling them off in turn. "Do not consider it an honor, fool," he spits. "It is only because I consider you a menace to yourself and everyone around you."

A sharp pinch to his backside makes him yelp, then scowl. He spins around to catch Altair's smirk. "I know I am a menace to your peace of mind, and you cannot forgive me for that." His amber gaze rakes up and down Malik's form, the tunic and breeches leaving little to his imagination. "But if the sight of me is so unbearable…" The paler man picks up an old frayed scholar's robe from the corner of the room and tears a thin strip of fabric from the bottom. "… Allow me to make amends."

"Altair," Malik begins warningly as he sees the other man, clad only in thin breeches himself, advancing on him with intent.

"Do you trust me, Malik?" The assassin slows but does not halt his approach.

"To bungle your missions and bring shame to our Order? Undoubtedly."

"Anything less _would_ be foolish," Altair agrees. "But do you trust me not to harm you?"

"…yes," Malik admits with a harsh sigh. "You would not _seek_ to harm me."

"Then do not worry." Altair pushes Malik down to kneel on the cushions littering the floor. "Sit."

"In general, I find your reassurances more concerning than your threats, novice."

"Hush," Altair says sternly. He draws the deep blue fabric around Malik's eyes, taking his time in adjusting it so that it is snug but not tight. As he works, Malik pipes up, "Remind me once again why I agreed to this." He _must _have his eyes directed at the ceiling in a dramatic fashion; Altair would wager 2 weeks of guard duty on it. He finishes tying the blind and nips at the juncture of Malik's neck and shoulder.

"Because you know I will make it worth your while." Altair can't hide the leer in his voice as he studies the man before him. Malik sits back on his heels, thighs splayed and head cocked as he focuses on his other senses. He looks like a kept hawk, hooded and taut, ready to take flight if given the chance. Altair will have to handle this carefully.

He reaches out a hand, and the unusual gentleness of his touch startles Malik into drawing back slightly. Altair feels a hint of sorrow at the implication, but pushes him back onto the cushions and continues with a firmer hand. Without Malik's sharp eyes to rush him, he is free to explore parts of the other man's body that are usually passed over: the sweep of his collarbone; the soft skin behind his knee; the firm, ticklish muscle of Malik's lower abdomen.

"Who could this be, touching me with such care?" Malik hopes his teasing question doesn't sound too breathless. "Surely not Altair, the Eagle of Masyaf and continual bane of my existence."

"Are you complaining?" Altair asks, running delicate fingers over the notch at the base of Malik's throat, pleased when he elicits a shudder rather than an instinctual withdrawal. "I could be more forceful." He lets his short nails scrape across the skin there and is taken aback by the quiet groan Malik grants him.

"At least I could be sure of your identity," Malik retorts quickly to mask his mounting desire. "As it is, you could be anyone, even that gullible market vendor."

"Would you let the market vendor do this to you?" Altair keeps one hand braced on Malik's neck and moves his other to cup the bulge in his breeches, forcing a wet gasp from the other man. "Especially if you could not see him?"

"I have little to fear from him," Malik stutters out as he drowns in sensation. He fears to imagine his appearance, pinned with nothing but gentle fingers at his throat and a callused hand pushing his breeches from his hips to take him in hand. When had he let himself become so helpless?

Ah yes, when a pair of amber eyes had lit on him, hot and possessive, as if he were something more than a grey shade passing, unknown and unknowing, through this life. When clever, lethal hands had taken hold of his desire and left him trembling.

"And you fear the Son of None, Malik?" Altair slows and lengthens his strokes, unsettled at the other man's words.

The blindfold shields Malik from the censure or – worse – mockery in Altair's eyes as he gasps, "I fear… what he does to me. Once I have found him… ah, _please_… my eyes can see… n-nothing else." The hand on his cock ceases its movements entirely, then draws away.

The _dai_ imagines that Altair has gone perfectly still in that peculiar way of his, the coil before the strike. He braces himself for laughter and is met with only silence. The moments stretch out in his mind, becoming minutes and then hours. Has that fool left him sitting alone on the floor, pants undone and fingers clenching in the cushions?

He cannot see himself as Altair does, biting his lip with an uncertainty that is quite enticing. This may be the first time that Malik has regretted anything that he has said – and he has said quite a few things that, at least in Altair's mind, warrant it.

"Brother?" Malik reaches up to pull the blindfold from his eyes, so he is caught off-guard when a misshapen hand grasps his own and an insistent mouth surges onto his, overwhelming him with desperate affection. Altair is grateful that Malik cannot see the warmth in his eyes that has no place – that merits no _name _- in the life he leads, as the man that he is.

Malik meets his fervor with teeth and tongue, his groans loud enough to surprise even himself. He blames the blind for allowing his reserve to evaporate, but recovers enough to pant, "Well, whoever _you_ are, tell that novice to find somewhere else to stay for the evening. I am occupied."

"_That novice_ is right here," Altair says heatedly. Even when Malik is teasing him, his words find their mark; and now that he has tasted the sweetness of Malik's surrender, he only wants more.

"Perhaps you are right," Malik breathes, his voice none too steady. "Altair has never been able to oversee two activities at once." He withdraws his hand from Altair's hold and slides it down the well-known path of his torso to take himself in hand, sighing into Altair's mouth.

Malik's ploy works brilliantly, as Altair sits back, dumbfounded at how things have spiraled out of his control. Malik would be laughing long and hard at his expression were he able to see it; as it is, Altair has to stifle a moan as he watches Malik pleasure himself, the wantonness of the display heightened by the blush rising on those dark cheeks as he writhes and keens before an unseen audience.

Again Malik bites his lip in a poor attempt to silence himself. It only makes Altair want to do it for him.

He takes advantage of the other's blindness to cup the delicate flesh of Malik's sac and massage it slowly, watching the stroking movements lose their rhythm. Just as quickly, he withdraws his hand and savors the whine this earns him. Next he places a soothing hand at Malik's temple, carding them through his hair. Altair waits until the darker man is almost purring before grabbing the hair at the base of his skull and wrenching his head forward, biting Malik's lip hard enough to draw blood. Malik cries out but doesn't stop his movements; in fact, his hips buck even more strongly.

If Malik wants him to be ruthless, Altair would be hard-pressed to deny him. He keeps his hold on Malik's hair and forces the fingers of his other hand into his mouth, feeling his own length stiffen against his thigh as a hot, flexible tongue laves his fingers. He watches Malik's tongue seek his palm eagerly, and feels as if he might go mad with desire.

The assassin lets go of Malik's hair and places his own hand on his cock, curling slick fingers around the base and moving with slow, even strokes. He grabs the other man's hand as it tries to interfere with his ministrations.

"Novice…" Again, Malik means it to be a warning, Altair knows, but it comes out as a plea, tenuous and aching. He decides that this is not the last time that Malik's body will betray him tonight.

"I'm afraid there is no one who answers to that name here," he hums before he wraps his lips around Malik and applies generous suction that earns a pleading whimper. He lifts his head to say, "But I will entertain requests addressed directly to me," before returning to his task. When he feels the familiar tightening in Malik's thighs and his hand clenches in Altair's own, he halts the movements of his mouth, wrapping firm fingers around the base to deny him release. He does this, again and again, laying caresses and cruelty along the rest of Malik's body until he is a shuddering wreck.

Malik is caught in a web of pleasure, unable to anticipate where he will be touched, whether that hand will be kind or unforgiving, and for once his mouth feels sluggish, unable to form words that should be easy. "Ah –" he gasps, horrified at how close he is to committing the ultimate blasphemy. "Al-"

"Go on, Malik. Call out my name." That deep voice has the same flat tone as ever, as though he is taking a group of new recruits through the same tiresome exercises on the practice field. "That is all I need to hear."

"Al- oh fuck, oh _Allah_..." The word breaks in the middle, and he curses his traitorous tongue.

"The title is not necessary, but appreciated nonetheless." Malik bares his teeth at his _insufferable_ satisfaction before Altair presses a scorching, open-mouthed kiss to his neck and releases the pressure around the base of his cock. He curls that same hand around his length and _twists_. Once, twice, root to tip, thrice –

– and it is over for him as a tide of heated darkness swamps him and his whole body arches from the force of it. The pleasure is almost painful, enough to make his eyes sting, and he hears a hoarse cry but can't be sure whose it is. Once his climax subsides, he feels like a piece of seaweed caught in the current, the last waves of his orgasm lapping at him.

Malik keeps his eyes covered for as long as possible, but finally he pulls his hand out of Altair's and tears off the blindfold with a scowl. The other man's expression makes him want to put it back on.

"Al-ta-ir." His scarred lips linger on each syllable as he drawls out his name. He revels in the sight of Malik, eyelashes clinging together wetly and muscles still trembling in the aftermath. "It is easy to confuse the two of us, but _my_ name is Altair."

Malik struggles to speak and catch his breath at the same time, so he settles for striking the side of that smug face soundly with a cushion and knocking him over. "A mere slip of the tongue, that is all," he manages to growl. "Believe me, I can tell the two of you apart."

"Do not worry yourself overmuch, brother." Altair rights himself with a smirk and crawls with a predator's grace to lay the full length of his muscled body against the other man's still heated frame. His tone is offhand, but Malik swallows audibly at his words.

"Next time, I promise that you won't be able to remember your _own_ name, much less mine."

* * *

_mraa mn alnsr - _sight of the eagle


	2. Speak No Evil

"You've the scent of success about you, brother." These words greet Altair as he drops into the bureau to find Malik seated on a cushion in the foyer, writing swiftly as sunlight slants through the grate and casts him in alternating light and shadow. The assassin looks around to ensure they are alone, then drops his hood.

"I hope it masks the scent of the tannery." He grimaces as he dips his hand into the fountain and splashes it over his face, trying to remove the grime collected from a morning of exertion. "Why am I constantly sent to explore the dirtiest parts of this city? Surely we have contacts who acquaint themselves with the baths once a _week_."

Malik doesn't look up, but Altair sees his lips quirk. "Oh, you are right, brother. I simply forgot that the perfume shops and women's quarters hide a _wealth_ of information about arms dealers and their Templar connections." His quill continues moving.

Altair strips off his weapons, boots and armor before starting on his robe. "I assumed your memory would be better than that."

"Should I pay mind to such things?" Malik's hand slows a bit. "Your musk is only one thing I can make sport of. That list of topics is quite lengthy."

"I suppose it depends on how close to you I am allowed to be." Malik looks up at the deep murmur, quill finally at rest. His gaze travels from Altair's bare feet, up the line of dark breeches, thin tunic, and comes to rest on the scarred mouth.

Altair resists the urge to lick his lips, overt seduction unnecessary in his mind, and barely masks a squawk of outrage when Malik returns to his work, hand moving across the page once more. "Remove your clothes," he intones, "I will be with you shortly."

This dismissive gesture is only just better than flat out rejection, but he obeys nonetheless. Each scratch of the quill against paper ratchets up both his irritation and need, constant companions in Malik's presence.

Finally, the _dai_ finishes his thought, sets the book to the side, and looks up at Altair, clad in only a scowl and an undeniable erection that makes Malik smile. "Lock the grate and draw the blind over it, then come here."

Gritting his teeth, Altair stalks over to the grate with as much dignity as he can muster in his present state, grabs the pole to secure the lock, and struggles with the fabric folded up at one end of the grate. He catches the small hook at one end, then draws it over the opening and attaches the hook to one of the holes in the lattice.

He hears the rustling of fabric, and by the time he finishes and turns to face his partner, Malik has removed his dark blue _djeballa_ and is working on the ties to his white robe. "Start on my boots, then work your way up."

The taller man considers jabbing Malik with the pole, but only sighs and rolls his eyes before kneeling to unbuckle the clasps on the other man's boots. In another time and place, with another person, such an act could be slow, sensual, an act of devotion. Here and now, with this particular man, Altair focuses on efficiency to distract himself from committing some sort of violence.

He knows he has no ability to hide his irritation at the best of times. Now, impatient and lustful, it must be palpable. "Am I to be ordered around like this forever?" he mutters, pulling the boots off before removing the white robe and tunic, similar to his own, with unnecessary force.

"Take care, novice, it'll be your hands repairing any rents you put in the fabric, and we both know your sewing is abysmal." Malik smirks. "As for ordering you around, I'll stop once the need is gone."

Altair is used to losing the battle of words, so he settles for pushing Malik onto his back, grasping the top of his breeches, and pulling them off briskly. His face feels heated from frustration and desire as tanned skin and firm muscles are exposed to him. He can't speak for Malik, looking unperturbed as usual, but he knows he will not last long and seeks to accelerate the proceedings. He tries to kiss Malik while searching under the pillows with his free hand for the bottle of oil he knows is there. Malik torments him with sharp nips and swipes of his tongue along his mouth and down his neck, and Altair's movements grow a bit frantic.

"Searching for your scattered wits?" Malik teases. "I doubt you'll find them under there.

"Perhaps I am searching for something to keep you quiet," Altair fires back, hand still moving.

"Have you a gag stashed under the cushions?" Malik smirks and is taken aback when Altair freezes, his eyes growing distant, then sharpening again on the other man's lips.

"The idea certainly has appeal." His smile is not friendly, and Malik feels a new kind of heat coil in his belly. Then Altair's expression lightens as he holds up the bottle of oil. Malik is suddenly focused on the possibilities therein, and he forgets what has just passed between them.

But Altair remembers.

He thinks and plans in the snatches of freedom he has from his duties and finds himself at an impasse: while Malik often drives him mad with his endless taunts and gripes, a gag would render his mouth unavailable for silencing in other, more pleasant ways.

And Malik has never been stingy with his mouth. Altair huffs in annoyance as he recalls the many times Malik has berated him, mocked him, beseeched the heavens as to why, _why_ Altair cannot see reason. But sometimes, after delivering a particularly sharp dressing-down, his kisses are softer, fuller, lingering like a dulled blade that requires more time to reach its mark. And those moments, where the tension builds to a breaking point, are not to be given up easily.

Then he imagines Malik straining against the gag, teeth clenched and eyes wild, and he is decided.

So the next time a hapless journeyman hurries out of the bureau, ears ringing from the force of Malik's insults aimed at Altair, the older assassin thinks this might be the time. While Malik draws breath for the next volley, Altair pointedly looks around the empty bureau. He looks back at Malik, and his eyebrows dance, so that the _dai _stops his tumble of words with a rueful smile.

Altair takes this as assent and draws the blind over the grate far more graciously than he had last time. He then moves forward to claim a kiss, wet but with the sloppiness trained out of it by Malik's ceaseless tutelage.

"Had I known that my criticism effected more change in your habits as a reprobate than an assassin, I would have tried a different tack." The darker man turns his head to grant access to the curve of his neck.

"For one who prides himself on his perception, you can be rather dense," Altair murmurs into his ear before biting it and drawing a sharp intake of breath from his partner.

"And for one who prides himself on his efficiency, you are speedily losing ground," Malik counters, pulling his head away in threat.

"I am no politician, to ply you with honeyed words," Altair growls as he grabs Malik's shoulders, "I am a man of action." With that, he spins the other man around to land on the cushions littering the floor, swiftly covering that muscled body with his own. Malik doesn't struggle, but neither does his look invite tender ministrations.

Altair shrugs to himself: an assassin who does not _make_ an opportunity rarely claims his target, and his pride is too great to allow that. He plunders Malik's mouth as a strong hand grips the back of his head so that he cannot pull away, which is just fine with him. He uses the distraction to reach for the strip of red fabric, coarse but pliant, that adorns his waist. He breaks their kiss to show Malik the makeshift gag, and he smiles as he did before: an invitation with teeth.

"I told you I would find something to still your mouth."

"Ah." Malik licks his lips. "I suppose you have succeeded," he says quietly, unable to hide his hesitation. Altair captures his mouth in another heated kiss, determined to dispel that tiny bit of fear in an otherwise fearless man.

"Will you allow me to use this?" Altair pitches his voice low, and Malik feels the words like a caress. "I find the thought of you begging without words to be… quite tempting." He lets desire bleed into his voice and nibbles around the other man's soft earlobe.

"Hold tight to that fantasy, Altair," Malik responds coolly after a moment, "it may never come to pass."

Altair smiles in sharp anticipation and swiftly applies the gag. Malik only grimaces around the unfamiliar sensation in his mouth but makes no complaints. "Excellent, I was hoping you would say that."

He regards the other man with a critical eye, happy to see him squirm. It's only fair – Malik spends so much time appraising and criticizing _him_. Still, it is hard to find fault: the red sash a striking contrast against Malik's tanned skin, the gag forcing him to bare his teeth defiantly even as the binding itself makes him vulnerable.

"Ah," Altair breathes, "what a beautiful sight. I might never have you at my mercy like this again." Malik recoils slightly, that hesitation resurfacing. They are both new to this, navigating carefully between intimacy and weakness. Altair runs his fingers along the coarse fabric and murmurs, "I would have no desire to bind a lesser man, and a lesser man would never have agreed."

That seems to do the trick, as Malik's apprehension fades behind his usual calculating air. They gaze at each other, Altair uneasily reflecting that the gag does nothing to shield him from the other man's ever-present scrutiny. Malik leans back with his arm behind his head, defenseless but for a knowing look. _Well? What is the next step in your brilliant plan?_

Altair opens his mouth to respond, then closes it quickly. He scowls, which only amuses Malik more. Fuck, the man can practically _speak_ with his eyes alone. Altair sits back for a moment, letting his not-insubstantial arrogance take over. Malik may permit this, but he is not going to make anything easy.

And that, too, suits Altair just fine.

He leans over and presses soft lips to the spot on Malik's neck that he had been sampling earlier as his fingers flutter along his collarbone. Malik's arm moves from its position behind his head, and Altair slides the dark blue robe from his shoulders. Malik's breath hitches once, then resumes its normal pace.

He licks up the column of Malik's neck, tasting the mild perspiration there and hearing that little catch of breath again. Knowing that Malik is not unaffected makes Altair bold, and he reaches for the ties holding the other man's white robe closed.

"I was not aware that stilling your mouth would render your hand similarly useless," he drawls before continuing his dual assault on fabric and skin. He doesn't have to wait long before Malik snorts, looking supremely irritated despite the sash in his mouth, and pushes Altair onto his back.

They have not engaged in such things very frequently, so there is still the awkwardness of three hands, two impatient men, and too many layers. The only difference lies in the silence; normally the _dai_ would be lamenting Altair's lack of finesse, but for now he is restricted to grunts and disapproving glances.

He has not yet tried to speak, but Altair is determined to make him forget himself.

Soon enough they are both stripped to only their breeches, and Altair has to pause without Malik's words, often unkind but always _heated_, to assist him. He looks up from his supine position as the other man rolls his eyes. Again Altair can almost hear him sigh, _Anticipate, Altair! How many times must I remind you of this?_

Apparently at least once more, as he lets out an undignified yelp when a clever hand grasps him through his pants, managing to get in a few rough strokes before he pulls that strong arm away. Gagged as he is, Malik still manages to lift one side of his mouth in a smirk, eyes dancing with mirth. _Novice._

Altair's own eyes narrow, and he feels brief gratitude as this goads him into action. He rolls them over and pins Malik's hand, still caught in his own, above his head. He presses a knee firmly into the space between Malik's thighs and is _finally_ rewarded with a groan and an unconscious arch of that firm back.

They stare at each other again, Altair panting while Malik regards him steadily. Damn him, how can Malik lay there, gagged and on his back, and still be orchestrating the entire encounter, down to exactly how deeply Altair draws breath? It defies explanation, and the paler man resigns himself to the fact that, yet again, Malik has maneuvered himself into the position of power. The revelation that he has allowed himself to be maneuvered – or indeed, even done so _himself_ – will present itself later. Right now Altair only knows that he watches the darker man, and Malik watches him right back.

He is tense enough to feel the beginnings of movement beneath him, and he is suddenly frustrated beyond reason. "Is it too much to have you lay still for a moment?" he hisses. Malik gives him a speaking look, his eyes raking down their bodies and back up again. _You have yet to convince me that you know what you are doing._

Very well then. Altair presses his knee further into the tender spot at the base of Malik's cock, eliciting a groan that turns into a gasp when he uses his free hand to push Malik's breeches down and take him in hand. He rubs his thumb against the root, in that way that he has seen Malik do when he thinks he is alone, then strokes the entire length once, twice before returning to the base. He looks up to make sure Malik is watching before pulling the man's wrist down and pinning it to his side. He settles himself between his legs, and repeats his prior movement with the flat of his tongue.

Before Malik can finish moaning, Altair engulfs the head, swirls his tongue around it, and takes him as deep as he can. The hand in his grasp clenches a pillow and the moan becomes a whimper, muffled and almost wounded because of the gag. Yes, _this _is what he seeks.

He is content for a few minutes, changing the tempo so that Malik never adapts, and those sounds issuing from around the gag bring a flush to Altair's own face. He has to remove his mouth to undress the _dai_ completely, but Altair doesn't give Malik much chance to catch his breath after disposing of his breeches. He runs his tongue up from the base and down again, his other hand rolling the delicate skin of his sac, massaging his inner thigh, grasping his hip and feeling an answering tightening of Malik's hand in his own. This time he has planned ahead, drawing the bottle of oil from his pant pocket. He uncorks it with his teeth and spreads the slickness over his fingers, feeling the other man watch him, before recorking the bottle and setting it nearby.

He is grateful now that Malik's eyes are unbound, so he can see that complex tangle of pain and relief as he enters him with one finger, then a second. They haven't done this much either, and Altair feels a bit nervous as he has no desire to hurt him. He can see Malik's jaw clench so tightly he might bite through the fabric and thinks about how he might tease him for it afterwards. He gives Malik a few more licks along his manhood, hearing a sigh, then stops.

Right about now, Malik would be growling and hissing curt instructions about how hard, how deep. His eyebrows knit together in the same way, but he can only snarl incoherently around the sash.

"Is there something you want, Malik?" Altair looks up with an air of surprise, fingers still seated in the other man without moving, and this only enrages Malik further, as evidenced by the aborted movements of his arm that Altair has to grab tight. "All you have to do is ask." He gives a quick twist and curl of his fingers that makes the other man jump, but no more.

The angry breaths continue for a few moments as Malik's burning gaze focuses on Altair's smug face, until he closes his eyes and inhales deeply. When he opens them again, his expression is soft, pleading, and utterly foreign on his sharp features.

But Altair waits.

When nothing more is forthcoming, he leans forward to lick and suck at the tip of Malik's member and simultaneously presses his fingers in deeper, avoiding that small knot while the other man whines and shudders fruitlessly. He waits a minute before encasing Malik with his mouth and massaging his prostrate, staring intently into his captive's eyes.

"Mmph - ... ah, Altair-...agh!-"

He can make out his own name as Malik arches up, even if he wouldn't admit to listening for it. Desperation permeates those strangled moans, making Altair dizzy with pleasure. To bring a man like Malik to this state, pleading for his own ruin – surely that is the work of a master. He sits up, eyes never straying from Malik's.

"Well?" he demands, his tone hard. "Am I to receive nothing in return for seeing to you?" His jibe is met with none of the earlier exasperation, only a soft inhalation and swift obedience. Malik's rough hand runs up his covered thigh and around his hip. He feels those fingers urging him forward, so he uncoils himself like a jungle cat and prowls towards Malik, knowing his lean frame appears to best advantage this way and smiling at the hungry approval in those dark eyes.

He leans over on all fours, straddling Malik's thighs and planting his hands on either side of the other man's face, breeches straining around his arousal. Malik fumbles with the fabric, and takes them both in hand. Altair encourages this with a roll of his hips as he shimmies out of his pants, grabbing Malik's hand briefly to lave the palm with his tongue and sucking lewdly on his fingers. He watches Malik's pupils dilate and imagines his own grow darker when he lets that hand return to its task.

Malik's brow is furrowed over half-lidded eyes, making him look hurt, as if he already knows Altair will deny him. When Altair pulls away with one last twist of his hips, the _dai_ lets out a sob that the paler man has never heard before, and it makes him feel cruel, monstrous, and desirous of more. He wants to seal his mouth over Malik's and draw that sound into himself - proof of his inhumanity - but the gag prevents that.

So he crawls backwards until he can grasp Malik's waist, flips him swiftly onto his stomach, and pulls him up onto his knees, one hand on his left hip and the other grasping the red sash, all with no more protest than a sharp gasp from the darker man. He pulls back on the sash so that Malik's head is forced up, and he rests a hand on his back.

"Is this what you imagined, brother, when you let me have my way?" he whispers into Malik's ear, punctuating the question with a sharp bite that makes the other groan and push back. "Will you beg me?" He pulls back harder on the gag, only to feel Malik nod frantically with a choked noise. "Then go ahead." He leans back and runs a tender hand down the knobs of Malik's spine.

He is not quite ready for the response. Altair feels Malik brace himself on his knees and lift his one arm up so that he is partially supported by the sash in his mouth. He manages to find the oil bottle, uncork it, and lubricate his fingers before discarding it. Altair has a moment to be impressed before Malik reaches backwards to coat Altair's erection. The combination of his callused hand, only slightly mitigated by the salve, and the unforgivably vulnerable angle of his neck wrenches a low moan from his own throat that Altair should stifle but can't.

Feeling like he is losing his advantage, he knocks Malik's hand away with a snarl, lines himself up, and pushes past that initial resistance into soft, heated flesh. He savors the high-pitched keen from the man beneath him as he slides in, then out in a controlled fashion, letting the sash grow slack. Suddenly he slams into Malik, yanking him back by the hip and tugging on the fabric so that his head snaps back with a satisfying grunt.

He does this again, and again, setting up a punishing rhythm that would normally push Malik down onto his forearm, moaning into the cushions. The gag allows him to keep Malik somewhat suspended, so that the brutal snap of Altair's hips can be seen sweeping through his entire body even as he seeks to steady himself with his arm. Malik's harsh gasps are transmuted by the fabric in his mouth into the feral growls of a beast, trapped and dangerous beneath him.

Being held hostage does not factor into Malik's plans for very long. He again lifts up his arm, letting more of his weight rest on the red fabric between his teeth as he palms himself roughly. The new angle of his body and the tightening of his muscles around Altair do not go unnoticed, who finds himself whispering pleas and broken curses that grow in volume to overtake even Malik's urgent groans.

Indeed, no lesser man could reduce himto begging.

The hottest fire burns out the quickest; this coupling is no different. Malik's strokes grow faster and rougher, until every muscle in his body grows taut and he emits a broken wail that makes Altair shudder and lose their tenuous rhythm. Malik comes with a howl, head thrown back without any prompting from the gag, and falls forward onto the cushions. With a few more thrusts, Altair empties himself with the sound of Malik's deep sigh echoing in his ears.

He allows them both time to regain their senses before sitting up with a groan and untying the gag, casting it near the fountain as a reminder to wash it. He flops back onto the cushions to meet Malik's vaguely accusatory stare.

**"**Do not look so injured, Malik, there was no crime committed here."

It takes the _dai _several minutes to catch his breath, as if he has to remember that he is a man, not a muzzled animal. He works his jaw back and forth to dispel the stiffness.

"None that I could give voice to, anyway," Malik retorts with customary gruffness. The hoarse breathiness of his voice is perversely alluring, making the sarcasm an invitation to kiss him rather than the warning he intends it to be.

"Let us not blame the gag, _habibi_," Altair says dryly as he leans closer. Malik scowls, but meets his lips halfway nonetheless.

"So how did you like it?" Altair himself is not sure. The novelty was enjoyable, but Malik without words was almost another person, stripped of some of his humanity

"It was different. Strange, but not… unpleasant." Malik is lost in contemplation, which is Altair's cue to draw the attention back to himself.

"Being silent must have been a challenge." Ah, his eyes have narrowed in that typical way.

"The difficulty of not being able to correct your missteps was somewhat offset by having you take on more of the burden. I never realized how little you contribute." And there – it's as if the gag had never touched his lips. He has his Malik back, and Altair leans forward to still his mouth in the most delightful way.


	3. Do No Evil

Altair walks towards Malik's quarters within the fortress of Masyaf after a thoroughly mind-numbing discussion with the visiting _rafiq_ from Beirut, hoping for any sort of distraction – even an argument would be welcome. Before he can announce his presence, he cocks his head at the sounds from within: birds chirping from the window that is uncovered during the day, the scratch of a quill against parchment, and the occasional pause filled with a tortured sigh.

Normally Altair is the cause of those sighs – either exasperated or satiated but always, _always _tortured if Malik is to be believed – so his interest is piqued as he strides through the partially open door.

A scroll lays unfolded on the desk underneath the window, and Malik himself is perusing his collection of books, his back to Altair. His hand brushes against the spines of several volumes as he searches, collecting dust as it goes.

Altair crosses his arms and lingers at the entrance, eyebrows furrowing at the invisible weight on Malik's shoulders. Come to think of it, Malik should have noticed him by now: the _dai_ has an uncanny ability to sense his presence even when Altair is at his most circumspect.

Malik reaches for a tome on the top shelf, struggling a bit with the height. Feeling playful, Altair glides forward and molds himself to Malik's back as his gloved hand slithers up the _dai's_ robed arm. "Let me assist you, brother," he whispers hotly into his ear as he grabs the book.

He is rewarded by a breathless shriek from the other man as he whirls around, eyes wide and arm still held aloft as he is lightly pinned by Altair's body against the bookshelf. "Altair!" he gasps, trying to regain his composure. "When did you arrive?"

"Only a few moments ago," he replies, showing no sign of moving away even as Malik pointedly looks down at the close press of their bodies. The scent of sweat and adrenaline prompts him to lean in, and he relishes the feel of that lean form against his own.

"You have all the social graces of a camel," Malik says in his usual irritable way as he takes the book from Altair's hand.

"And the stamina to match," he responds with a lewd surge of his hips against Malik's, crowding the shorter man against the bookshelf again. He can see the red creeping up Malik's neck.

"Damnit, Altair!" he finally explodes. "I don't have time for your poorly thought-out seduction techniques!" He pushes Altair far away enough to step around him, escaping to his desk and placing the book on it.

Unperturbed by this outburst, Altair merely leans against the bookshelf and asks, "What is it you must do? Perhaps I can help."

Malik glances at him warily. "My task requires literacy, so I'm not sure what assistance you can provide."

Altair frowns. "I can read," he mutters sulkily, which pulls a reluctant smile out of Malik.

"So you say," he responds with a thawing of his previous countenance. "I am just weary, so my correspondence is taking longer than usual."

"What is it? Is there trouble abroad? Are the journeymen not fulfilling their duties?"

"And are these problems new in any way?" Malik grumbles. He puts a hand to his brow in a well-known gesture and exhales slowly. "I have not slept well the past few nights." He rubs the stump of his left arm. "When the weather starts to change, my shoulder troubles me a bit." He quickly drops his hand. "It is nothing."

"How long has this been going on?" Altair asks with more concern than Malik ever thought to hear from him. He approaches him and places a cautious hand on Malik's shoulder.

"Ah, it is not that frequent, just with the change of the seasons," Malik replies nonchalantly. "Only a few times since I lost the arm." If he is matter-of-fact about it, they can minimize the awkwardness.

Altair's eyes are filled with self-loathing and regret, and Malik wonders if he has always been so easy to read. "I am sorry, _habibi_," he says softly and hopes the other man understands all that he is apologizing for.

"I know," Malik responds just as quietly. He turns his head to trace his lips over Altair's gloved knuckles. "The pain is not so bad."

Altair opens his mouth to say something – he's not sure what – but thinks better of it. He cups Malik's face with the palm of his hand and runs his thumb along his cheek. Neither says anything for a long moment, until Altair finally asks, "_Is _there anything I can help you with? Some menial task that would ease your burden somewhat?"

"No, brother, I am fine," Malik assures him, leaning into Altair's hand with a familiarity that neither could have imagined mere months ago. "I only need to rest and gather my thoughts." He gives Altair a rare, sweet smile, and the shadows around his eyes ease a little.

Sensing an opportunity, Altair pulls Malik closer. "Perhaps there are _other_, not so menial tasks I might see to," he murmurs with particular emphasis, placing an open-mouthed kiss to the tender patch of skin behind Malik's ear.

Malik gasps, then hums, "And what might those be?" His hand busies itself with the fabric of Altair's robes, stroking his flank languidly.

The answer seems obvious to Altair but, as Malik is forever chiding him about patience, he will bide his time. "Well, despite your skepticism, I can help you decode those messages," he muses, as he drapes his arms about Malik's shoulders. "Your bookshelf would no doubt benefit from a dusting." His left hand caresses the shell of Malik's ear, earning a rumble of pleasure. "My hidden blade could use some attention." He licks his lips, calloused fingers trailing across Malik's neck and leaving shivers in their wake.

Malik's eyes narrow as they linger on Altair's mouth before meeting his amused gaze. The effect of his glare is rather lost by the hunger behind it and his stuttering breaths while Altair's hand continues its attentions to his jaw. "Didn't I hear you polishing it just this morning?" he asks with a deceptively even voice, as fingers trace the bow of his lips.

Altair tilts his head to look at him sidelong. "What can I say, brother? The thought of you is all it takes to have me testing my equipment, so that I am ready when next we meet."

That look of flattered embarrassment on Malik's clever face, fleeting as ever, draws Altair in to press their lips together.

"And? Was your blade in working order?" Malik's voice is rough as he now crowds Altair against the wall.

"Could I trouble you to examine it?" Altair's tone is beseeching yet sly. "It seems to respond better to your touch."

"One cannot expect too much from a novice, I suppose," Malik responds airily. Altair's sharp retort is lost in a groan as the _dai_ palms him through his robes. He leans his head back against cool stone and fists his hands in Malik's robe. "Best remove these," Malik gestures to his weapon belts in a business-like way, "they will only hinder my evaluation." At his suggestion, Altair kicks off his boots, removes his gear and undoes the first few ties of his robe so that Malik's hand can find its target.

Malik takes his time, teasing him with fleeting touches to his cock. When Altair bares his teeth at him, he grins. "Patience, Altair, you want me to be thorough, do you not?"

"Whatever it is that I want, you are rarely inclined to give me," he mutters. Malik raises an eyebrow but the pace of his hand remains maddeningly slow. Altair takes a moment to gather himself – quite a challenge with that dextrous hand scattering his thoughts – and recalls the feeling of Malik held in place against the bookshelf, the clean lines of his body held taut and his gaze open in that unguarded moment.

He must have that again.

Altair withdraws his hands from the voluminous folds of Malik's _djeballa_ and grasps the back of Malik's head to drag him in, attacking his mouth with teeth and tongue. With his other hand, he slows the activity of Malik's fingers on his member and twines their fingers together, knowing how it disarms the other man.

"What ill-advised plan are you hatching now, _ahbal_?" Malik inquires even as he lets Altair lead him backwards.

"Only making good on my offer, _dai_," Altair responds solicitously, biting down on Malik's lip and earning something between a groan and a whimper from the other man. He pushes the _djeballa_ from his shoulders before shoving Malik onto his bed. He closes the bedroom door before joining the other man on the mattress.

"I do not want you to lift a finger," he breathes into Malik's ear and guides his hand behind his head. "Keep your arm there." He punctuates his order with a swift kiss and starts undoing Malik's white robes, nibbling each new patch of skin uncovered. "Ah ah ah!" he tuts when he sees Malik start to move.

"It is not in my nature to be idle," Malik says between hitching breaths. "Especially when I know I do good work."

"Is that so?" Altair drawls as he sits up, removing the red sash from his waist and running it between his fingers. "Then I will find some way of keeping you _thoroughly_ occupied." Suiting action to words, he straddles Malik to wrap the red sash around his wrist, loops it around one of the sconces above them, and secures it with a binding knot.

Malik gives some experimental tugs, remarking, "I cannot be trusted to keep my hand to myself?"

"I do not distrust your intentions, only your abilities," Altair smirks. He continues disrobing Malik, removing his boots and spreading the folds of his assassin's whites so that he is almost fully bared.

But there is still something he needs to take care of before he proceeds.

He pulls the dark blue ties from the discarded _djeballa_ next to the bed. Before Malik's curious gaze, Altair ties similar knots around both of his ankles and secures them to the bedposts. Satisfied, he straddles Malik's legs again and pulls his breeches down to his knees. If anything, his disheveled, partially undressed state makes him look even more debauched than complete nudity would.

"There," Altair breathes, drinking in the arousing sight before him. "Now you can be at ease."

"That's not the conclusion I came to myself," Malik retorts, but his words end in a groan as Altair wraps his lips around the head of his cock and slides up and down his length in a leisurely fashion. The older assassin makes a considering noise around him, and Malik can feel it in his toes.

Altair refuses to stop to remove his own clothing, so he holds Malik in his mouth as he pulls his robe from his own shoulders and drops it off the side of the bed. He leans forwards and engulfs Malik until his nose brushes against the skin of his belly so that he can work his breeches off, appreciating the wavering moan his efforts elicit.

"Ah, brother, if only I were free," Malik growls, "I would take you so hard, so deep you would ache with emptiness for days afterwards." His words appear to have a direct connection to Altair's cock, making it twitch.

Panting at the images this conjures up in his mind, Altair concludes that the best way to torture Malik… is to give him what he wants.

He grabs the medicinal oil from the shelf beside the bed, pops the stopper off, and lets it coat his fingers. With a feather-light touch, he gingerly paints Malik's cock with the oil, the tips of his fingers barely grazing him.

"You son of a jackal, don't torment me so!" he protests weakly.

"You always complain I am too hurried, too rough. I am only attending to your complaints."

"So help me, Altair –" Malik is at a loss for words and obviously furious about it. He arches his back, straining against his bonds for more contact, and Altair's smile widens.

"I am _trying_ to help us both." He kneels over Malik, pouring more oil over his fingers liberally and letting some drip onto the overheated skin of his partner. "Patience, _dai_," he chides gently, leaning over the other man and bracing himself with one hand by Malik's head. The other hand…

"Ahh…" His eyes close as his fingers circle his own opening, and he drops his head and exhales harshly as he breaches himself.

"Altair…" Malik breathes, the shock and wonder in his voice prompting Altair to open his eyes again. The darker man has ceased his struggles and stares up at him, mouth agape.

Such a rare prize, to see Malik overwhelmed.

"Yes, _Malik_, yes…" he moans as he presses another finger in, and he knows Malik could no more stop the sudden jerk of his hips than he could the journey of the sun across the clear Jerusalem sky.

"Fuck," Malik rasps, and Altair knows he is greedy for wanting more of _that_, letting his own voice rise in pitch and volume as he works himself open, meeting Malik's startled brown eyes with his own unblinking gaze. Instead of biting his lip and hiding his lust as he usually does when they are together, he lets every flicker of pleasure show, close enough to feel the other man's shuddering breaths inches from his face.

"Why is that you only give me what I want when I am no position to do anything about it?" Malik asks with a shaky laugh. He can't see exactly what Altair is doing, but his flushed face and needy gasps are all his fevered mind need to fill in the gaps.

"Such is the nature of our relationship," Altair returns with a breathless chuckle of his own. He drags his tongue across his lips and watches Malik unconsciously mimic his action, his pupils dilated.

Malik recognizes the wicked glint in Altair's eyes a moment too late, and he warns him darkly, "Novice! Don't you dare –"

Altair has already braced himself with one hand beside Malik's hip. It will be the first time he has taken Altair and he's not sure how it will feel, if he can hold himself together. How like Altair, echoes of his former arrogance showing, to turn his own yielding into a weapon.

The assassin grasps Malik's rock-hard member and lets himself drop onto it. He freezes for a fraction of a second, mouth dropping open until the pain recedes to a slight burn and he can enjoy the fullness, the warmth, and the look of dazed indignation on Malik's face.

"Damnit… Altair," Malik draws in a labored breath, his words a pale imitation of his earlier epithet as he watches Altair's jaw work.

"Wait, Malik," he pants. "Don't curse me… just yet." Altair rocks his hips back and forth, one hand on Malik's chest and the other tugging at his own cock. He doesn't bother to stifle the moan that starts in the pit of his belly and falls from his lips, long and low and shameless.

Malik closes his eyes against the sight of Altair, all flushed skin and glassy eyes and swollen lips, but he can't do anything about the sounds invading his ears. He feels desire slicking his veins, making his blood thick and sluggish. In fact, he feels certain that all of his blood has collected in the throbbing erection currently sheathed in Altair's tight, welcoming body, leaving him none to complete a thought.

It's taking all of his self-control not to come apart, each breath is sweet agony… so of course Altair picks that moment to lift himself up until they are barely touching, muscled thighs tensed and hands digging into Malik's hips, and then slide down again, arching his back and grinding down so that he can, impossibly, take Malik even deeper.

Malik is sure he is a comical sight: eyes wide and mouth gasping silently like a landed fish. Fortunately, Altair is too busy unraveling at the seams to notice.

"Ah, _please_," he keens, eyes rolling back and dark lashes fluttering. Malik is not sure to whom this entreaty is addressed, but he answers the only way he can: snapping his hips as far as he can against his bonds, throwing Altair off-balance so that he has to gasp brokenly and right himself. Malik does it again, and once more, until the paler man is draped over him so that they touch almost everywhere, an almost constant moan issuing from his mouth.

"Next time… will be different, Altair." Malik struggles to speak as the flames of his orgasm lick at him, starting at the base of his spine and spreading from there. "Next time, I will hold you down, every inch of me pressed against your skin." Altair has a faraway look on his face as if he just _might_ be picturing it. "I will have you on your back, legs wrapped around me and pulling me in deeper, ever deeper." He thrusts upwards, and the noise Altair makes has nothing to do with control or reason, only hunger.

"You will beg me to take you hard, harder than you thought possible, until you cannot bear it anymore." Altair is nodding frantically, his eyes unseeing, and his fingers clench in Malik's hair. "And I will give not what you ask for, but what I know you _need_." His legs are shaking with the effort of meeting Altair thrust for thrust, but he continues. "I won't stop until you come apart beneath me, calling out my name because only I can bring you such pleasure." Altair closes his eyes in silent agreement, still draped over Malik and their eyelashes almost brushing, and Malik snarls, "And you will scream it to the heavens."

Altair looks at him, _through_ him with those glittering amber eyes, keening from the movement of his partner's hips, his senses inundated by the feel of Malik all over his skin, muscles clenched and desire unmasked just as he wanted. Malik strains once more against the bonds, just to be sure, then growls, "Spread your thighs, Altair, let me show you."

He does his best to oblige, sitting up and making a choked noise as he slides down even further on the cock inside of him and the next thrust feels as though it reaches the very core of his being. He teeters on the edge – legs as wide as they will go, spine bowed to its limit, head thrown back in obscene ecstasy – and Malik can't hide the awe in his voice as he watches Altair take his pleasure, looking tortured and beautiful.

"Ah, _gamil_," he groans, his voice entering a lower register as he feels his climax bubbling underneath his skin and he draws on his last reserves to drive upward and into the other man. "The things I will do to you."

And that's all it takes, the shadowed promise in Malik's voice enough to splinter him apart. "Malik, _Malik_," he sobs, voice high and fluting like a bird's, and never has he resembled his namesake more than in this moment. His nails dig into warm flesh, and he trembles as his climax overwhelms him. Malik can feel warm wetness land on his chest even as he can't tear his eyes away from Altair's face, guileless and hazy with lust.

As the body above him tightens, Malik watches Altair's fingers spasming with the aftershocks, and marvels, _He didn't even touch himself._ The sheer abandon that Altair has displayed, the wantonness of it, drives him over the edge with one last thrust, and he shivers at the invitation, the _surrender_ in Altair's sigh.

They fall back onto the bed together, and after a moment, Altair hoists himself up to undo the ties on Malik's limbs. The _dai_ groans once he is free, shaking out his arm to relieve the strain. His voice quiets into a sigh as a strong three-fingered hand massages the abused muscles and scarred lips find his own.

"How I managed to end up sore and tired without 'lifting a finger' is beyond me," he muses, eyes crinkling with quiet laughter. "And now my _other_ shoulder is aching."

"But surely sleep will come easily to you this evening, _habibi_," Altair points out with a smile of his own, "so my efforts were not in vain."

"You often mean well," Malik allows, "although the end result is rarely what you intend." He grunts as Altair jabs a finger into the tender spot between his shoulder and collarbone. "But I will grant you, novice, that sleep will not be an issue tonight." He covers Altair's hand with his own. "Not least of all because you are here."

"Because you know I will keep you safe?" Altair can't hide his surprise at this display of sentimentality.

"Because your cries drove any would-be intruders into hiding." Malik can't help the superior smirk on his lips, even as Altair gives his shoulder an amiable shove, blushing a bit. "_That_ is what I mean when I say do good work."

* * *

_ahbal_ - fool

_gamil_ - beautiful (man)


End file.
